


Rough Time, Rough Love

by guilty_pleasures_abound



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aftercare, Blow Jobs, Bubble Bath, Comfort, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Fucking, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Love, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Pancakes, Pet Names, Reader-Insert, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-26 15:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilty_pleasures_abound/pseuds/guilty_pleasures_abound
Summary: You've had one hell of a day. All you want is to be a little spoiled and a lot fucked, so Stan does just that.[Female reader]





	Rough Time, Rough Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request of a lovely friend, who wished for light Daddy kink, spanking, blow jobs, being manhandled, and pampering. How could I resist such a delicious checklist.

What a shit day. Just one of those awful, issue after issue, frustrating days.

“Damn, kid, you look like crap.”

You sighed, kicking your shoes off before heading to the kitchen, passing in front of Stan where he was watching television and hoping there was something stronger in the fridge besides Pitt.

“Thank you, Stanley,” you sighed dryly, bending at the waist to look at the shelves, annoyed that the beer seemed to be gone. Figures.

“I just mean it looks like you had a rough day.” You felt his presence behind you, and knowing him, he was taking the opportunity to check out your ass. Strangely, it made you feel a smidgen better.

“That's putting it lightly.” You straightened with another sigh, putting your hands on your hips as the fridge door swung back closed with a thunk. You tried to remember where Stan kept the hard liquor; in the absence of beer you'd gladly take a shot.

“Hey.” A heavy, solid hand on your arm drew your eyes to him, the concern on his face a small comfort. “What'd you need, honey?”

“Nothing, Stan, I'll be fine, I just—”

“Nope.” He shook his head, stepping closer and pulling you in, raising his free hand to your other arm and giving you a firm squeeze. “Try again.”

God, you loved this man.

You took a long breath, truly looking at him for the first time since you'd stepped through the door. He hadn't bothered to dress completely down since the Shack closed a half hour ago; button up shirt still on, but the first few buttons undone, creating a little V that showed off his shiny gold medallion and thick chest hair. His jacket was gone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie hanging loose around his collar.

You had no clue how he did it; managing to look so casual but so sexy at the same time.

“Just one of those days,” you finally sighed. “Nothing earth-shattering, just... shitty. Frustrating.”

“Heh,” he gave you a tiny smile and an encouraging squeeze of his hands. “I know what that's like.”

“Yeah,” you sighed again, putting your hands on his chest, his body nice and warm through the fabric. He took it for the invitation it was to pull you closer, pressing his lips to your forehead and his hands cupping your shoulder blades.

“Want me to help you take your mind off things?” He murmured the offer against your forehead, his thumbs rubbing against your tense shoulders.

Honestly... yes. You did.

You nodded, and Stan squeezed your shoulders again encouragingly.

“I just want…” you sighed. What did you want? “I just want to stop thinking for the day. I don’t want to make any more decisions, I don’t want a say in anything.”

Stan hummed thoughtfully as your hands clenched lightly in his shirt.

“I can do that,” he murmured. “But you know the word if you want me to stop. You’ll use it, right?”

There was little in the world that made you feel more secure than Stan making sure you knew you were safe with him. It was something that had kind of surprised you when the idea of... _this_ first came up between you. You had an inkling that he would be into it, that handing him power over you would hook right into the part of him that loved to be in charge, but you didn’t realize how deeply it would meld into his protective instincts too.

“I promise,” you said.

“Tell me the safewords.” He always did that too; made you say them out loud before you started.

“‘Gold’ when I’m good, ‘silver’ when I need you to slow down, and ‘bronze’ when I need you to stop.”

You both liked the tiered system; it gave you an opportunity to influence the way things were going if you needed to without calling everything to a full halt.

“Good," he murmured, wrapping his arms more snugly around you for a minute. "Now—you're gonna go take a bath, relax, and I'm gonna rustle up some food."

You gave a little smile, sliding your arms around his waist to give him a squeeze.

"Yes, Daddy."

The satisfied rumble in his chest made you smile even more, before his hand gave you a little swat on the ass.

"Go on then," he grunted, ignoring your surprised gasp. "Get to it."

He let you go, so you stepped back with a little nod, feeling his eyes on you as you left the kitchen to head to the bathroom.

The Shack may be a bit run down, sure, but if there was one thing about it you liked, it was the deep, clawfoot tub. It was just perfect for soaking in, and even hosted both you and Stan at the same time on occasion without much difficulty, so being sent to take a soak in it was never something you'd complain about.

You filled the tub as you took your time to undress, folding each item and placing it on the closed toilet seat, the heat from the water beginning to steam up the mirror. You even indulged in one of the bath bombs Mabel had given you as a birthday present, sweet girl that she was.

By the time you stepped into the hot water and sank down for a soak, the sweet smell of the bath bomb had permeated the air, and the steam had settled in to make the bathroom feel almost spa-like.

Still, your frustrating day lingered in the back of your mind. It made you frown, looking at the dingy ceiling with a long sigh.

"Relax," you muttered out loud, "Stan told you to relax, and that's what you're going to do."

Stan. That was something you could think about.

He really looked so handsome today. He was handsome everyday, in your opinion, but there was just something about that casual professional look he had going on that was particularly delicious. What was it about men rolling up the sleeves of their dress shirts that was so sexy? You knew you weren't the only one with that opinion, though you couldn't pinpoint the root of the attraction.

The door of the bathroom opening drew your attention, giving Stan a little smile as he stepped in.

"Ain't that a pretty picture," he murmured, coming over to the tub and perching on the edge. "You a raisin yet?"

He snickered, and you chortled as you raised your hands out of the water to check. Mildly raisin-y, and Stan reached over to confirm, taking one of your wrists into his hands.

"Yep," he nodded, "being in there for a half hour will do that."

A half hour? You hadn't realized it had been that long, no wonder.

"Huh, guess so," you acknowledged.

"Feeling any better?" he asked, big hand traveling up your wrist to stroke the inside of your arm gently.

"Little bit." You shrugged.

"Haven't been up here thinking about your crap day instead of relaxing, have you?"

You bit your lip sheepishly, and he gave you a chastising look.

"Only a bit," you mumbled. "Then I started thinking about you instead."

He raised an eyebrow, the chastising look shifting to one of interest. "Oh yeah? What about me?"

You settled your head more comfortably against the tub, letting your eyes drift down from his face to his body, lingering on the exposed forearms you had just been thinking about.

"How good you look," you murmured after a moment.

"How good I look, huh?" He smirked, his hand drifting from where it had been stroking along your forearm to brush the back of his fingers against your wet collarbones. "How good do I look, baby?"

"So sexy," you sighed, laying your palms on his hairy forearm gently. "I love you in button up shirts, I love when you roll the sleeves up like that. I don't know why it's so sexy but it is."

His smile grew wider, his hand drifting lower, pausing briefly at your chest to gently roll one nipple, then the other, between his fingers with a little pinch that made you give a tiny gasp.

"Hm, I'll keep that in mind."

His hand drifted lower, down your belly with an almost ticklish touch before landing on your leg, fingers curling against the inside of your thigh to coax your legs apart more.

"This one of those fancy bath things Mabel gave you? Making the water all pink?"

You almost missed the question, Stan choosing that moment to start running his fingers gently over your slit. You made yourself focus to give him a response. "Yes."

He nodded. "Didn't know it'd do that. Thought it just fizzed and made the water smell good."

You didn't think he expected a reply to his comment, so you remained silent, just subtly tilting your hips up into his touch instead.

He noticed, a little smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth.

“There’s Stan-cakes and bacon when you get out,” he said. “You ready to give up your life of raisin fingers?”

You almost chortled, but instead it turned into a little gasp when his thick middle finger parted your folds, stroking slow and languid from your opening up to your clit. Then a positively devious look, and he stood, taking his lust-inducing touch with him.

You couldn’t help the little sound of protest that left your throat, which made Stan pause with a bigger smirk before reaching for the hand towel to dry his hand and arm.

“Problem, toots?”

An aggravated growl, and you leaned your head back against the tub a little harder. “You’re mean.”

He laughed, the towel making a little bit of a scratchy sound as he worked it over his hairy arm. “Mean, huh? Guess you don’t want dinner.”

You gave another growl, rubbing your wet hands over your face, fingers pressing against your eyes firmly as you followed the sound with a long sigh.

“Sorry, sir,” you said meekly, peeking at him through your fingers.

“Apology accepted. Get up.” He swapped the hand towel for your body towel, holding it open for you and waiting for you to stand up. You did, allowing him to wrap it around you. Then he leaned in, pressing a couple light kisses to your wet neck.

“Don’t worry, honey,” he murmured, “I’ve got a lot more planned for you than a quick finger fuck in the bathtub. Gonna give you a chance to be real good for Daddy, earn that nice, hard, _real_ pounding you want.”

It was a very good thing Stan was so close to you, when his words literally made your knees weak, your hands bracing against his chest as you unsuccessfully tried to bite back a whimper, heat spreading over your face.

You just _knew_ that stroked his ego, his amused hum tucked into another kiss to your neck, making you shiver.

“Come on,” he encouraged, coaxing you out of the tub and onto the bathmat.

You tried to calm down as Stan very sweetly dried your body, trusting that he was going to do exactly as he promised; take care of you. By the time he was holding your robe open for you to slide your arms into, you had mostly succeeded, until Stan went and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Still golden, beautiful?” he murmured, hands on your hips over the robe.

“Still golden,” you assured him.

“Good,” he nodded, then patted your hip. “Food time.”

He thankfully led you to the bedroom instead of all the way downstairs to the kitchen, a promising plate sitting on the bedspread, with a second, upsidedown plate sitting on top of it to keep the heat in, along with a napkin and a set of silverware. The bacon scent coming off it was unmistakable, immediately making your mouth water, and you unashamedly hurried to sit on the bed and dig in.

You were also unashamedly disappointed when you took the top plate off to see only a single pancake and one strip of bacon.

Stan’s laugh made you frown, but he swooped down to kiss you with a little squeeze to your knee. “Don’t worry sweetheart, there’s more downstairs. You’re gonna be stuffed tonight, but it ain’t gonna be with food until later. This is just to hold you over.”

Heat immediately creeped across your cheeks, met by his wicked grin, and it was all you could do just to close your agape mouth with an audible swallow.

“Golden?”

“Yes, Daddy.” The words were a breathy whisper.

“Good.”

He straightened, giving you a wink before stepping out the door and down the hall, leaving you to dig into your light meal alone. Despite its small size, you had to admit it was damn good, Stan being wonderful enough to load up the pancake with extra butter before slathering it with syrup, just the way you like it.

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you dug in, getting comfortable on the bed by criss-crossing your legs and leaning back against the headboard, the first warm bite you brought to your mouth making you give a soft, satisfied groan. A moment later you could hear the old pipes gurgling as Stan drained the bathtub, then equal protest from them as he ran the water, though for what you weren't sure. You were too busy stuffing your face to give it too much thought.

You were practically done by the time he came back into the room, dragging the last bite of pancake through the syrup still left on your plate, then chomping on the entire strip of bacon in one go. He chortled, holding his hand out for your plate, and you gave it over as you chewed.

You didn’t expect him to take it downstairs, and he didn’t, placing it instead on top of his dresser to be washed later. The syrup would be a congealed bitch to clean, but as long as Stan was the one to do it you weren’t about to complain. This was where the real evening began.

Stan sat on the bed in front of you, the thoughtful look in his eyes making your heart rate start to pick up.

“Feel a bit better?” he asked.

You nodded, licking your lips and twisting the hem of your robe between your fingers a bit, curious and eager for what he had planned.

The first step to his plan, apparently, was to kiss you, planting his hand on the mattress beside your hip as he leaned in. And since he didn’t specifically say you _couldn’t_ touch him, you didn’t bother to restrain yourself, cupping the back of his head in your hands as you accepted the kiss with a soft sigh. Which was when you realized why he had run the water a few minutes ago; the hair at the base of his neck was a bit damp from where he had clearly washed his face and neck, and the intoxicating scent of his cologne was fresh and inviting.

It made you smile, scratching your fingers through his hair gently until he pulled back a bit.

“Know what I think, pet?” He was king of pet names, rotating between everything from "baby" to "toots," depending on the day and his mood. But _pet_; he only brought that out when you were about to be deliciously bruised under his massive hands.

“What?” you asked breathlessly.

“I think it’s been a bit too long since I’ve had you over my knee.”

_Fuuuuuuck._

That was about the only coherent thought you had for a long moment, unsuccessfully trying to suppress the longing moan in your throat, met by Stan’s gruff laugh, his eyes glinting behind his glasses.

“Well?” He raised an eyebrow. “Do I have to put you there myself?”

You were tempted to make him, but you were too eager for it to play that game, saving a bit of playful resistance for later. Instead you immediately unfolded your legs, turning to place your feet back on the floor before draping yourself across his lap. Your loosely-tied robe gaped a little awkwardly off your chest, but any inclination to fix it immediately went out the window when Stan stroked a hand down your back to your ass with a contemplative hum.

“Mm, my favorite juicy peach,” he murmured, squeezing your asscheek over the fabric of your robe. You could tell he was smirking, the corny jerk. “How easy will this nice tasty fruit bruise tonight, ya think?”

He dug his fingertips into the muscle with another thoughtful hum.

The sudden impact of his hand made you gasp, your fingers taking hold of his pant leg both to steady yourself over his lap and to brace yourself against the anticipated sting of the next hit. Instead of a second hit, however, he squeezed again.

“I asked you a question, kitten.”

You breathed out before you answered, giving the fabric in your hand another little squeeze. “I don’t know, Daddy.”

"We're gonna find out, then, won't we, honey?"

"Yes sir," you whispered.

"Good pet."

The next strike of his hand made you jolt, gasping despite yourself, the fabric of your robe barely dulling the sting of the impact. His rhythm was uneven, unpredictable, but that's what made it all the more exciting; unsure of which cheek his hand was going to land, how hard, how far apart each strike—it kept you on edge, breathless and trying not to squirm.

Then he paused to flip the edge of your robe up, exposing your ass to the cooler air of the room, and you had about half a second before the sharp sting of his palm against your flesh made you squeak. His satisfied rumble of a hum was followed by a rapid slew of sharp hits, the lewd smacking sound shockingly loud and the sharp sting undoubtedly turning your cheeks red.

"Goddamn, you pink so pretty." His hand paused, his rough palm stroking gently over the sensitive skin. "Still golden, pet?"

You honestly considered asking him if that was a trick question; you were bent over his lap, squeezing your thighs together desperately as your clit throbbed with arousal and your breath panting like your life depended on it. It barely got more golden than this.

"Mm-hm," you squeaked with a nod, your hanging head starting to get a little heavy with blood rush. A sensation you promptly ignored when his free hand dipped under your chest, pushing inside the opening of the robe to pinch and roll your nipples.

When his palm landed sharply on your ass again you couldn't keep yourself from crying out, the dual sensation of his fingers on your chest and his hand hitting your cheeks too much to allow you to remain quiet.

“There it is,” he sighed, laying several more solid hits on either cheek for good measure. “That’s just perfection, right there.”

It was hard to tell if he was complimenting himself on getting you to make such a noise, or your reaction itself, but it didn’t much matter when he dipped his fingers further down, two thick digits slipping easily through the slick arousal practically dripping down your thighs.

“Oh yeah,” he chuckled, squeezing your breast in his hand when your body reflexively clenched around the press of his fingers inside you, greedily trying to keep the delicious length of them buried in your cunt. “There’s my good little slut, all wet and eager already.”

Fuck, a slut was exactly what you felt like; your robe flipped up, your ass and face red, your nipples stiff under his fingers and your cunt dripping wet—there wasn’t a chance of denying it, of claiming to be anything else in that moment but a fuckable little whore just for him to play with. And goddamn if that wasn’t exactly what you wanted.

Another round of hits left your eyes watering at the sting, nearly bringing you over the edge of too much. “Silver” was on the tip of your tongue, nearly panted out between your short, hard breaths and overwhelmed cries, until he abruptly stopped; his hand pushing further up under the robe to stroke your back.

You whimpered, turning your head to press your face against Stan’s arm, his hand still tucked under your chest, rolling and pinching your nipples with his fingers. Then one of his low, thoughtful hums, and you gasped in surprise when he suddenly released the light pinch of his fingers on your nipple to hook his forearm under your chest; holding you steady as he pushed your hips off his leg, letting your knees down onto the rug.

“Look at me,” he commanded. His hand fit under your jaw, tilting your face up toward his, his serious gaze piercing into you as you dazedly tried to catch your breath, your head pounding slightly from hanging almost upside down.

The skin of your ass was noticeably hot, the whole thing throbbing with the quick beat of your heart, and even the light scratch of the fabric of the robe falling over it again made your squirm. Fuck, he had gone to town, you were going to be sore for days.

“Such a good little pet,” he murmured, his hand leaving your jaw to wipe his thumb gently over each eye, brushing the tears away. “You wanna be extra good, honey?”

You nodded, unabashedly eager for anything he wanted you to do.

He gave you a little smile in return, petting his hand gently over your head once before leaning down to hook his finger into the loose belt of your robe, tugging it open. You shrugged the robe off immediately, letting it pool on the floor behind you, and his pleased little moan made you embarrassingly happy.

You were even happier a moment later when he released you to put his hands on his belt, freeing it from the buckle before going for his button and zip. Now that your attention was drawn to it, there was no way you couldn’t notice how hard he was, his cock straining against the fabric with all its might. Just from spanking you, just from a few moments of fingering you, Stan was just as eager as you were.

He didn’t even have to ask, you knew exactly why you were on your knees, exactly why he was choosing now to release himself from the confines of his trousers. You licked your lips when he slid his hand inside his boxers, pulling himself out with a relieved little grunt.

“Can I suck you, Daddy?” you still asked softly, simply because you knew he’d like to hear it.

“You’d better, kitten,” he murmured lowly, the roughness of his voice sending shivers all over your skin.

You didn’t need to be told twice, laying your hands on his thighs as you ducked your head to take him into your mouth. You felt his body shift a little in answer, and knew he was leaning back on his hands so he could watch you.

“My dick looks so good between your lips, pet,” he sighed. “Fucking made for it.”

He had a dick made to be sucked, in your opinion; thick and satisfying but not overwhelming, the soft skin faintly salty and musky—masculine but not overpowering. That was kind of Stan in a nutshell; at least the Stan you had the privilege of knowing, the Stan that he shared only with you.

His compliment emboldened you, lead you to take him further into your mouth, the fat head flirting with the back of your throat as your tongue rubbed along the underside in messy swipes.

“That’s it,” he murmured with a soft groan, one hand coming up to pet over your head as you started a slow bob and suck over his length. “That’s so good, baby, that’s it.”

You didn’t spend enough time with your mouth around his cock, you decided. Not nearly enough, especially considering how absolutely pleasure drunk it made him, how eager it made the touch of his hands on your head and shoulders, how easy compliments fell from his lips.

“Goddamn you’re perfect,” he huffed, his hand squeezing around the back of your neck, equal parts encouraging and reassuring. “I’m so damn lucky, honey, how did I ever get it this good?”

Stan didn’t often get overly sentimental, but when he did—when he’d ask questions like _that_, both in the bedroom and outside of it—it always made you want to rip apart every person who had ever made him feel like he wasn’t good enough.

You shifted your hands from his thighs to wrap around his waist, the closest you could get to embracing him while still on your knees, your forehead against his soft belly as you fervently moved your mouth and hoped your enthusiasm conveyed even a fraction of how lucky you felt to have him. More muttered cursing and tight squeezing of his hand against your neck seemed to suggest he got the message.

“You can take deeper,” he suddenly growled, his gruff voice made you whine, your cunt clenching desperately at his command. “I’m gonna fuck your face, and you’re gonna be a good little slut about it, aren’t you?”

Fuck, _fuck_ there was no way he had any right to be this hot, telling you how he was going to choke you with his dick, but he _was_, a gush of arousal between your legs making you squirm with a breathy moan that was almost embarrassing.

Then his hand was against the back of your skull, and you had only a few moments to try to relax your throat before he was pulling you down; rough, quick thrusts deep into your mouth that made you glad he had insisted on only a single pancake earlier.

“That’s it,” he growled again, canting his hips up into it, forcing you to take him deeper, the thick intrusion into the back of your throat making it hard to breathe, hard to keep from gagging and squirming under the onslaught. “Fucking take it, I know you can.”

Another whine, spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth, but you did it; riding the rough thrusts and trusting the heavy hand on the back of your head not to truly hurt you.

Suddenly you were gasping through your empty mouth, Stan’s hand tilting your head back from him with a groan, his other hand coming up to smear his thumb messily over your wet and puffy lips.

“So good,” he murmured, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. “You’re so good, pet. No one’s ever sucked my dick the way you do.”

Your brain felt hazy, his compliment creating a spread of warmth through your belly that tangled itself right into the hot pulse of desire already furiously bubbling there.

“You want me to fuck you, honey?” he asked with a smirk, haughty and proud of himself for the undoubtedly glazed look in your eyes. “Want me to fill up that pretty cunt of yours?”

You couldn’t do anything but lean against his hand with a long, soft moan, your eyes sliding closed again and your hands digging into his waist.

“Yes Daddy,” you rasped, swallowing audibly. “Please, I want it.”

The soft rumble of his moan created a delicious shiver down your spine, and the next thing you knew, you were face down on the bed, Stan’s hands manhandling you exactly the way he wanted.

“Knees on the mattress,” he ordered, lifting your hips and helping you do just that, putting your back into a steep slope. “Wanna see all that pretty handiwork of mine.”

He petted over the bruised flesh of your ass as he said it, making you squirm at the strange pleasure/pain. “Damn that looks good, honey.”

Then his thumbs, dipping down between your legs and pulling your pussy lips open for his gaze. “Fuck, look at that. You’re practically dripping.”

You pressed your flushed face into the bed with a moan, clenching your hands in the blanket as you tried not to be embarrassed at how easily he had worked you up, the man barely touching your cunt but still managing to turn you into a sloppy wet mess.

A sloppy wet mess that he happily dragged the tip of his cock through, groaning appreciatively at how easy it was. He just teased you like that for a moment, dipping the tip down to rub at your clit before sliding back up, parting your pussy lips and pressing the fat head against your entrance.

“You want it?” he asked, and you just _knew_ there was a cocky smirk on his face as he used the tiniest amount of pressure to barely nudge himself inside.

“God, yes, yes!” You were barely fighting the urge to lean back, knowing that any attempt from you to push back onto him would just earn you punishment for your impatience. “Please, please, Daddy, fuck me, I want it so much!”

“Gimme your hands,” he growled in answer, grabbing your elbows and pulling your arms back, his wide grip easily fitting around both of your wrists as he held your hands behind you. “I’m the only one who’s gonna get you off tonight, got it? You ain’t touching yourself.”

He was a tease, a terrible, _awful_ tease, your frustrated growl against the bed earning you a hard smack on your already sore ass before he leaned over you, just the tip of him sinking inside.

“I better not hear any fucking arguments about to come out of that mouth,” he threatened lowly. “It better be ‘yes Daddy’ or your safeword. Those are your choices.”

“Yes Daddy,” you gasped, your hands clenched into fists and your thighs tense, desperate for more of him inside you and knowing you weren’t going to get it without those magic words. “I’ll be good, sir, I promise.”

“I know you will.”

Slow, slow, so fucking _slow_, the sink of his length inside you was torturous in its longevity, a test of your patience and willpower that you were very desperately trying to hold onto.

“Good pet,” he moaned when his hips were finally flush with you, the scratch of the fabric of his trousers just another over-sensitive sensation against your spanked-pink ass. “That’s so good, sweetheart.”

You were trembling, involuntary squeezes and spasms of your cunt _sure_ to be driving him crazy, but his willpower was stronger than you gave him credit for.

“One more time,” he husked out, his hand squeezing its grip on your wrists while the other held tight to your hip. “How good are you going to be, honey?”

“So good,” you moaned, “I’ll be so good, I’ll do everything you want, I promise, I swear.”

“Like music to my ears, darlin’.”

He withdrew, taking your breath with him, until he slammed back in with a rough thrust, jolting you against the bed and jerking a gasp from your lungs.

“Hm… so wet and snug,” he hummed, the pace of his hips turning sharply to deep and hard, stealing your breath with every movement. “God I just love your cunt.”

He was relentless, using his hand on your hip to get just the right angle, just the right pace, using every shred of his intimate knowledge about your body to play you like a fucking fiddle.

“Fuck, fuck!” You thrashed, you couldn’t help it, clamping down tight on the thick push of his cock deep inside you as you let out a soft cry. Then—fuck, _fuck_—the heavy weight of his hand on the back of your head, pinning you down, keeping you still, keeping you exactly where he wanted you under him.

“Just a little more, baby,” he growled, the grit heavy in his voice as he panted. “You’ve got me so hard, honey, God… you have any idea how much I wanna blow my load in you right now?”

If it was half as bad as how desperate you were to come, you could perfectly imagine.

“Think I should let you come first, pet?” he rasped, like the fucking _tease_ he was.

“Please, Daddy,” you could barely squeak. “Please let me.”

His mouth against your shoulder, creeping up the back of your neck, a contemplative hum rumbling in his chest.

“Alright, sugar. Since you asked so sweet.”

He released your head, and the touch of his rough fingers to your clit a moment later was damn near the best thing you had ever felt. You couldn’t stop crying out—every thrust of his hips and swirl of his fingers driving you higher and louder, but he didn’t seem to mind the noise; if anything, it pushed him harder, faster.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s it, love. God, do you have any idea what you do to me? How much I think about this, how much I love it?”

His rhythm faltered, getting a little unsteady, Stan so clearly white knuckling his control over himself. Thankfully, he didn’t have long to wait, the practiced rub of his fingers knowing exactly what they were doing.

You gasped as you tensed, a sharp wave of heat crashing through you all at once, so fucking good your vision literally whited out as your climax flooded every sense with pleasure. There was a whining sound, and after a moment you realized it was you; nearly drowning out the sound of Stan moaning, his hips hitching and hard breath on the back of your neck making goosebumps break out all over your skin.

“Sweet—fucking—Moses—” he grunted, a hot burst of heat inside you undeniable and _so fucking sexy_, making your muscles flutter and squeeze. “Goddamn, you’re fucking incredible.”

You couldn’t speak, you could barely _breathe_, you body suddenly as limp and useless as a wet noodle and your brain barely more than gray mush inside your skull.

You floated in that cloudy space for a while, Stan catching his breath against your back and sweetly kissing along your sweat-damp shoulders.

“Alright, honey,” he murmured after a while, sitting back slowly with a little grunt and groan when his back cracked. “I gotcha.”

The wet feel of him withdrawing made you shiver, leaving you messy between your legs and cool where the warmth of his body left your skin. Then gentle hands were helping you to crawl forward on the mattress, pulling the blanket down for you to lay on the sheets.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured softly, leaning down to kiss just behind your ear, and you summoned the strength to acknowledge him with a tiny “mm-hm.”

The temptation to doze was strong, but the longer you lay there the more acutely aware you became of how damn hot your ass was, each beat of your heart making the skin throb, the deep ache of the muscle more pronounced. Damn, he’d really put you through the ringer this time around.

He seemed to know it, too, the soft clack of ice cubes jostling together reaching your ears as he returned to the room. But first a damp washcloth; swiped gently and carefully over your skin, cleaning up the sweat and the mess between your thighs.

You hissed when he laid the bag of ice onto your ass, sore and sensitive.

“I know,” he said with soft reassurance, “but it’ll help, I promise.”

You knew it would, but that didn’t make it any more enjoyable. Still, you could endure it, especially when Stan sat beside you and started stroking his wide hand lovingly over your head.

"How'd you feel, sugar?"

A half-hearted hum was all you could muster, and he chuckled softly in amusement.

"Good," he snickered, leaning down to kiss your head, hand shifting down to pet over your back soothingly. "You okay while I get a quick shower?"

You'd survive, especially because you trusted him to spoil the hell out of you when he came back.

"Mm-hm," you sighed, enjoying another long stroke of his hand down your back.

"Alright, sugar. Stay right there, keep that ice on."

A little nod of your head and his weight left the bed, then the shuffle of his footsteps moving down the hallway.

You must have dozed off a bit, because it felt like no time at all before Stan's hand was back on your back, rubbing gently before the mattress dipped as he laid down. Then he lifted the corner of the bag of ice, humming thoughtfully before setting it back.

"Can't wait to see how purple that is tomorrow," he murmured cheekily, propping himself up on his elbow so he could lean over you, placing a trail of kisses along your shoulders. "You took it so well, pet. I'm proud of you."

A squeeze of his hand at your waist accompanied his words, making you feel pleasantly warm all over.

"Thanks, Daddy," you whispered. He knew it wasn't just thanks for the praise; it was thanks for all of it, for making your head feel free of the congestion of stress and worry, it was thanks for wanting to give you exactly what you needed.

"Always, baby." He rested his cheek on your scapula with a long sigh, his breath a little ticklish along your skin. Then just quiet, Stan's hand heavy on the small of your back and his head even heavier on your shoulder. You would never, ever complain, though; his warmth helping to counterbalance the coldness of the ice and his weight a comfortable reassurance.

It wasn’t until your stomach gave an audible gurgle that he spoke again, huffing a little chortle as he turned his head to kiss your skin.

“You need more food,” he said, “I know you’re still hungry. I’ll go get a nice big stacks of pancakes from downstairs, alright, honey?”

You sighed as you nodded, already missing his warmth as he sat up, but the promise of pancakes too good to refuse. He also took the ice bag with him, declaring it to be more water than ice by then, which was fine by you; you were numb at that point anyway.

“Alright, sweetcheeks, time to sit up.”

The smell of food finally motivated you to open your eyes, blearily looking at Stan where he had returned to stand beside the bed, holding a glass of water in one hand and a steaming plate of pancakes and bacon in the other. With a groan, you obeyed, rolling gingerly onto your back before slowly sitting up and clumsily wedging both your and Stan's pillows against the headboard to lean on.

You gave a little smile as he joined you, making himself comfortable with a relaxed sigh.

“Guess it’s a good thing we don’t have neighbors,” you murmured, letting your gaze draw up and down his unapologetically naked form.

He snorted with amusement, giving you a saucy wink. “Pft, even if we did, they’d be lucky to get such a show.”

“Hmm… that’s true,” you acknowledged. “Guess that makes it lucky either way; I get you all to myself.”

"Oh you flatterer, you," he chortled. "Come 'ere."

He raised his arm, beckoning you to tuck against his side; an invitation you couldn't imagine refusing. Especially not when he decided to feed you every bite of the pancakes and bacon himself, letting you just snuggle into him sleepily and enjoy the syrup-soaked goodness. He peppered kisses in between; clearly unminding of the sticky syrup on your lips, the gentle nibble of his teeth on your bottom lip practically making your swoon.

“What about you?” it finally dawned on you to ask, after taking a long drink from the water glass he had brought you. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Heh, honey, I was eating every other pancake I made as I went along, don’t you worry about me being hungry.” Yeah, that sounded right on brand for him, which made you smile.

You finished off the pancakes and bacon in record time, finally feeling comfortably full to make up for the meager single pancake and strip of bacon he had brought you right after your bath.

“Feel better?” Stan murmured, pressing his lips against your forehead and gently cupping the side of your face.

"Mentally? Yes," you sighed. "Physically, I'm going to be sore for a _week_."

He guffaw was far too pleased with himself, his arm around you giving a little squeeze before he titled your head up for a slew of soft kisses.

"Just what I wanna hear, pet."

"Such a jerk."

"You love me for it. Says more about you than it does about me, you know."

"God, shut up, Pines."

He laughed some more, his chest shaking a little with it. His amusement was contagious, and you couldn't help your amused grin.

"Good thing you love me too," you added, another warm squeeze of his arm and soft kiss to your mouth your answer.

"You have no idea, sweetheart," he eventually murmured anyway. "No idea."

**Author's Note:**

> [I've got a grunkle blog, check it out](https://guilty-pleasures-abound.tumblr.com)


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